For Townsmen are inquisitive, of course,
When a live Monk rides in upon a Mare,
Chase'd by a dead one, arm'd, upon a Horse.

Sir Thomas up to London sped, full fast,
To beg his life, and lands, of Royal Harry,
And, for his services, in Gallia, past,
His suit did not miscarry:--

For, in those days,--thank Heaven they are mended!--
Kings hang'd poor Rogues, while rich ones were befriended.

[Illustration]

YE CRITICKS, and ye HYPER-CRITICKS!--who
Have deign'd (in reading this my story thro')
A patient, or impatient, ear to lend me,--
If, as I humbly amble, ye complain
I give my Pegasus too loose a rein,
'Tis time to call _my Betters_ to defend me.

Come, SWIFT! who made so merry with the Nine;
With thy far bolder Muse, Oh, shelter mine!
When she is style'd a slattern, and a trollop;--
Force stubborn Gravity to doff his gloom;
Point to thy Caelia, and thy Dressing-Room,
Thy Nymph at bed-time, and thy fame'd Maw-Wallop!

Come, STERNE!--whose prose, with all a Poet's art,
Tickles the fancy, while it melts the heart!--
Since at apologies I ne'er was handy,--
Come, while fastidious Readers run me hard,
And screen, sly playful wag! a hapless Bard,
Behind one volume of thy Tristram Shandy!

_Ye Two, alone!_--tho' I could bring a score
Of brilliant names, and high examples, more--
Plead for me, when 'tis said I misbehave me!
And, ye, _sour Censors_! in your crabbed fits,
Who will not let them rescue me as _Wits_,
Prithee, as _Parsons_, suffer 'em to save me!

[Illustration]

THE ELDER BROTHER.

CENTRICK, in London noise, and London follies,
Proud Covent Garden blooms, in smoky glory;
For chairmen, coffee-rooms, piazzas, dollies,
Cabbages, and comedians, fame'd in story!

On this gay spot, (upon a sober plan,)
Dwelt a right regular, and staid, young man;--
Much did he early hours and quiet love;
And was entitle'd Mr. Isaac Shove.

An Orphan he;--yet rich in expectations,
(Which nobody seem'd likely to supplant,)
From, that prodigious _bore_ of all relations,
A fusty, canting, stiff-rump'd Maiden Aunt:
The wealthy Miss Lucretia Cloghorty,--
Who had brought Isaac up, and _own'd_ to forty.

Shove on this maiden's Will relied securely;
Who vow'd she ne'er would wed, to mar his riches;
Full often would she say of men demurely,--
"I can't abide the filthy things